


Lestallum in the Summer

by Umi_no_arawashi



Series: Rain in summer [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gladio is 100 percent straight, Gladnis, M/M, Pining, Pre-Slash, confused gladio, gladio does have some filthy thoughts though, ignis has a healthy sex life, ignis takes a shower, mention of m/f sex, nobody actually has sex on screen, well we'll see about that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 08:48:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14305098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umi_no_arawashi/pseuds/Umi_no_arawashi
Summary: Ignis has a hot date in Lestallum. Gladio should be absolutely fine with that. Ignis deserves a little bit of downtime.And yet, for some reason, something about the whole thing is annoying Gladio tremendously. He’s just not entirely sure why.





	Lestallum in the Summer

People look at Gladiolus and assume that being the prince’s shield is mostly a question of strength. And yes, of course, he does spend an inordinate amount of time honing his physique, because his combat abilities are obviously a large part of his job description. But they’re by no means his only skill.

No, an equally big part of being the prince’s shield is that, well, you’re basically being paid to notice stuff. Not just paid, either. It’s your sworn duty. You have to be on alert, all the time. Watch people. You never know who could be an assassin in disguise, a spy. Threats need to be assessed. Potential targets analysed. Entry and exit points scanned and kept in a corner of his mind in case an extraction should become necessary. 

So a large part of Gladiolus’ life is hanging back slightly and watching. He’s not meant to be in Noctis’s way, after all. And even in a reasonably safe place like Lestallum, he remains on duty. While Noctis and Prompto bounce around looking at trinkets and Ignis replenishes their stock of spice, he watches. 

Which is why, of course, he notices the silent exchange going on between the burly spice vendor and the aforementioned advisor. Sure, on the surface, all Ignis is asking for is recommendations on which spices to use in his green curry sauce. But there are a few problems with that. 

Firstly, Ignis’s green curry is pretty much perfect as it is. Last time Ignis made it at camp, Prompto actually ended up physically licking his own plate. So it’s fairly unlikely that Ignis would be trying to improve it. 

And secondly, even if he were, Gladio’s pretty sure there are enough spices laid out on the stall as it is. The vendor doesn’t really need to go pick up those heavy boxes behind him. He’s been around enough gym rats to recognise when someone is showing off. 

And that man is showing off. He might as well be flexing. It’s painfully obvious. 

And to a casual observer, Ignis would seem completely indifferent to that little display. Not a hair out of place, not a hint of emotion in his sea-green eyes. But then again Gladio isn’t a casual observer, and so he notices the way Ignis’s leather-gloved hand lingers just a second too long on the counter of the stall. How, when he raises one hand to his mouth to ponder the merits of two different types of sweet pepper, his movement is just a tad too slow, too graceful. 

Languorous, that’s the word Gladio is looking for. 

He doesn’t even know why he’s paying so much attention to Ignis’ flirting. It has nothing to do with him. The man is free to hit on whomever he likes, after all. Even some slimy trader with a tan, swollen biceps, a frankly cheap-looking mermaid tattoo on his shoulder, and a face like he barely has two brain cells to rub together inside his stupid head.

But perhaps that’s what Ignis finds attractive. After all, Gladio isn’t an expert in this kind of thing. His own tastes are radically different. He likes women, for one.

Not that he minds that Ignis prefers men. Of course not. To each his own. And if his friend is getting some, well, fair enough. Ignis deserves a break, to be honest.

Still, it doesn’t mean that there isn’t something deeply annoying about the vendor’s cocky smile as he hand the bag of spices to Ignis. And what was that? Hmm. Certainly looked like he was also handing him a small piece of paper. Folded in half.

Now, this is actually exactly the sort of stuff Gladio was _trained_ to notice. After all, it could have been some sort of secret communication, detrimental to the prince’s safety, and honestly, Gladio would actually be completely justified in walking over and demanding that Ignis show it to him. 

Except, of course, Ignis being disloyal is about as likely as a chocobo being the next king of Lucis. And Gladio doesn’t have to ask to know that all he’d find is that stupid guy’s phone number, probably some asinine comment about Ignis being cute, or a “call me?” with a little heart or something. The guy looks like the type. 

Ignis just seems to have that effect on people. Well, men, mostly, even though it’s always fun to see confused girls try to flutter their eyes at him. The guy can be colder than Shiva’s tit when he isn’t interested.

So Gladio just sidles along Ignis casually as the advisor walks away from the stall and offers a simple comment.

“Phone number again? Nice.”

Ignis smirks, and puts the piece of paper into the pocket of his jacket. “What, are you jealous?”

“No!” Gladio scoffs. “He’s not really my type, you know.”

“The town seems full of half-dressed women. I’m sure if you put your mind to it, you’ll find someone whose standards are low enough for you.”

Gladio grins. “Ha. Well, I’m glad Mr Spicy was willing to stoop to your level.”

“And I’m sure if you wait long enough, someone will take pity on you, Gladio.”

“Says the man who just spent fifteen minutes buying three bags of spices.”

Noctis chooses that moment to come bouncing back.

“What? Who spent fifteen minutes doing what ?”

“Nothing.” Ignis pushes his glasses up his nose with a mock sigh. “Grown-up stuff. Run along.”

“I’m a grown up, you ass.”

“Of course you are.” Ignis sighs again. “Now go stop Prompto before he spends all our money on chocobo treats.”

“No, really?” Noctis looks back over his shoulder. “Shit, you’re right. I’ll go get him.”

Both men smile affectionately as their charge runs off towards the other end of the market, where Prompto is stuffing an alarmingly large bag full of leafy, edible greens.

“It’s nice to see him relax a bit, isn’t it?” says Gladio. 

“Yes. It’s been a while. He deserves a little bit of down time.”

“Oh, speaking of which.” Gladio doesn’t really know how to broach the subject tactfully, so he just plunges right in. “If… you know, you wanted to take an evening off tonight, or something… I mean, I think I could manage.”

“Are you offering to watch the kids while I go out and enjoy myself, Gladio?” The corner of Ignis’ mouth twitches in a smile.

“Kinda. I mean, I don’t think Noct’s in any kind of danger here, so we’ll probably manage without you for a few hours. Just saying.”

“Well, that’s actually quite nice of you. But we’ll see. I’m not sure yet.”

Gladio shrugs. “Hey, whatever. Like I said, I’m just saying.”

“Thanks.” Ignis looks at him with a grin. “I’m not entirely sure what I’ve done to warrant that, though.”

“Hey, you know, bros being bros. And all that.” After all, if there is someone who truly, absolutely deserves a break, it’s Ignis. 

* * *

The hotel in Lestallum is comfortable. It’s one of Gladio’s favourite, in fact. Not that he minds camping. He’s always liked the great outdoors. But there is also a lot to be said for comfortable beds and hot showers.

They’ve split up in two rooms, Noct and Prompto are in the bigger one, the one with a bathtub - being a prince has to count for something, after all. Gladio and Ignis are next door, resting after dinner. Another thing about Lestallum is that the food is really nice. Not quite as nice as the surprisingly good food Ignis somehow manages to conjure up on their small camping stove, but that’s not something Gladio would admit openly. Ignis is smug enough as it is.

They’re both lying in their respective beds. The windows that look over the small square are open, letting in the warm summer breeze and the sound of people milling about, enjoying the balmy evening. The sun isn’t fully down yet, its last rays bathing the room in a nice golden glow.

Gladio has taken his book out, but he doesn’t feel much like reading. He’s just enjoying the peace and quiet, and the luxury of resting his large frame out in comfort on his bed.

Ignis is reclining on the other bed, long limbs stretched out, looking at his phone, a faint smile playing on his lips. Occasionally, he’ll type something. Quite obviously, he’s texting someone. 

Gladio has a pretty good idea what kind of texting is going on, in fact. Ignis doesn’t get that _look_ when he’s communicating with the Marshall or one of the few allies they’ve still got. 

Gladio is trying to pretend he’s not watching Ignis, but there’s something very distracting about the way he’ll occasionally let out a small amused huff, and how he smiles as he types his answers. He looks relaxed, for the first time in days.

Its distracting, and also a little irritating.

“You know, I meant what I said earlier,” says Gladio, trying to sound as casual as possible. “If you want to go out, I mean.”

“Oh? Sorry, am I bothering you?”

Not at all, why should I mind you sexting some random asshole while I’m trying to read?, he’d like to say. But instead he just shakes his head. “No. Just wanted to say the offer still stands.”

“Now that you mention it,” says Ignis, in an infuriatingly calm tone, “perhaps I’d enjoy a quiet evening stroll, now that it’s a little cooler outside.”

“Sure, an evening stroll,” says Gladio, rolling his eyes. “Or whatever.”

“Indeed,” says Ignis, sending one last message before slipping the phone in his pocket. 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Oh, I’m quite certain I shall, actually,” says Ignis, picking up his jacket, and throwing it over his shoulder. “Goodnight, Gladio. Don’t wait up.”

“Have fun,” adds Gladio as Ignis closes the door behind him, careful not to make too much noise, considerate as ever.

And then Gladio is alone with his own thoughts. He tries to get back to his book, but he’s finding it very difficult to concentrate. He’s feeling a little annoyed, to be honest. Lying awake on his bed as evening slowly turns to night, as the sounds from the town start to quiet down, as the heat finally settles down to a comfortable level, Gladio is feeling _pissed_.

And he’s not entirely sure why, that’s the thing. He has no problem with Ignis’s sex life. He has no reason to have any problem with it. He’s known Ignis prefers men for a long time, now. And he also knows that Ignis has never been in a relationship. A proper relationship. But that it doesn’t seem to stop him getting some whenever he feels like it.

But it seems unwise - actually, it seems dangerous - to dig any deeper into how he really feels about Ignis and his dalliances. So Gladio sighs and tries to get back to his book. Tries, above all, not to think too much about what Ignis is doing right now.

* * *

Ignis comes back around 1am. He’s very careful when he opens the door, because of course by all rights Gladio should be sound asleep by now.

He isn’t, though. He’s been trying to sleep, because he’s tired, and it’s been a long day. The hunt they were on was slightly trickier than usual, because their funds had once again dropped below the level Ignis considers sufficient to ensure they can replenish their supplies when needed. Gladio doesn’t mind. It’s fun, and it’s excellent training for Noctis who probably needs to hone his skills a little further if they’re going to take on the entire imperial army by themselves. Which is starting to look more and more likely.

But no matter how tired he is, sleep has been eluding him. It’s still a little too hot, and he can’t get rid of that vague feeling of irritation, even though he doesn’t know just what he’s annoyed at.

So when Ignis starts tiptoeing around the room, getting ready for bed in the dark, he takes pity on the guy and turns on the small light that’s on the small table between their beds. 

Ignis jumps a little at that, startled. He’s already taken off most of his clothes. He’s in his underwear, in fact, a rare sight because Ignis is a pretty private person and usually avoids undressing in public. Unlike, say, Noct, who doesn’t have a problem pottering around the room wrapped in the scantiest of towels after a shower. 

Mind you, Gladio’s not really the most modest person either. Being around soldiers most of your life kind of does that to you.

“Sorry,” says Ignis in a low voice. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I’ll just have a shower and go to bed.”

“Take your time. I wasn’t sleeping. Too hot.” 

Gladio yawns. Ignis grabs a clean t-shirt and underwear from his stuff and slips into the small bathroom. As he does, the light falls on him for a second and Gladio can see, quite clearly, the red circular mark of a love bite high on his shoulder blade.

There is something very disturbing about that mark. 

The very fact that Ignis doesn’t mind being bitten, in fact possibly enjoys it, is a little disturbing. That is not an image Gladio wants lurking in his brain, but it’s not the worst part.

No, the really disturbing thing is the location of the bite. On his shoulder, more specifically on the _back_ of his shoulder. 

Now, Gladio has been around the block a few times. He knows exactly when and how people tend to inflict such bites. In fact, he’s left a few himself, although more often than not, he tends to be the recipient. There’s something about large, tattooed shoulders than seems to possess some girls to bite when things start getting good.

But not there. Not on the back of his shoulders, for very obvious reasons. Because no matter how inventive the position, some things remain impossible. You don’t get love bites on the back of your shoulders, not if you are… well, on top. Scratches, yes. Bites, no.

In many ways, Gladio is an unsophisticated man. He’d be the first to admit it. He really doesn’t mind that Ignis prefers to sleep with men, that doesn’t bother him in the slightest. But somehow, he’s always imagined Ignis on top. In fact, he’s never even entertained any other possibility. Not that he’s really spend that much time trying to imagine it, of course. 

Fucking another dude, that he kinda understands. Wanting to get fucked, that’s beyond him. And he had trouble imagining mr prim-and-proper advisor, so very fussy about his clothes, so fond of being in control, allowing someone to do that to him.

The mental image he had in his mind kinda reverses itself, flips, morphing from Ignis fucking some faceless man with his usual efficient skill, just as overbearing and dominant in bed as he is in his daily life, to… something else.

An Ignis undone, ruffled, shirt torn off, glasses askew, helpless, legs spread, on his hands and knees, moaning as someone rams into him. The image is so clear in his mind for a second that he can see everything, from the drop of sweat that would run along the back of Ignis’ neck to the way he would bite his lower lip and frown at the mix of pain and pleasure.

Sometimes Gladio wishes he had less of an imagination. He shakes his head in a futile effort to get rid of the thought, but it’s too late. That’s now etched in his mind forever, and worse than that, his cock is definitely registering an interest at the thought.

The sound of the shower being turned on. It’s so quiet now, in the dead of night, that Gladio can hear everything. The rattle of the curtain being pulled back. Naked feet on tile. The stream of water interrupted, as Ignis steps under it. What sound like a small contented sigh at the feeling of water hitting skin.

This is insane. He’s shared rooms with Ignis dozens of time. He’s probably heard those sounds every single time, as well. So why is it suddenly so unbearable? Why is it he can’t stop picturing Ignis, naked under the water, hair plastered to his face, with a relaxed, well-fucked half smile?

Gladio has been around the block a few time, that much is true. A fair amount, to be honest, because he likes sex, and girls like him. He’s had showers like this with girls, when they both felt too satisfied to do more than cuddle and wash each other. He’s knelt to wash their feet, despite the fact there isn’t a shower big enough in the world for him to be able to do that comfortably. 

He’s taken them in his mouth, softly stroking them with his tongue, as water ran down his hair, into his eyes, to wrest out one more gasp of pleasure. And also, if he was perfectly honest, to taste himself in them, on them. He loves that, the sight, the feel of his semen coming out of a girl’s cunt, out of her ass, down her thighs. And they usually don’t object to him licking them clean.

Is Ignis engaging in that particular bit of personal hygiene right now? Are his fingers inside his well-used hole, spreading himself open to get rid of that stupid guy’s seed? 

He feels himself flush at the thought. His mind is going places he really doesn’t want to go. His hand has crawled down to his groin, to his cock, no longer just interested but hard, leaking, demanding.

Over Ignis taking a fucking shower.

Clearly, this is a mere side-effect of sexual frustration. Unlike Ignis, he hasn’t found any convenient outlet since they’ve left Insomnia. And this is where it gets him.

He takes himself in hand, swipes his thumb over the head of his cock. Gods, he needs this. He doesn’t care if the images that flood his mind are of Ignis, legs spread in the shower, slowly fucking himself of his long, elegant fingers. He’ll worry about what it means later. Perhaps it doesn’t mean anything at all, anyway. All he knows is he wants to get off, now, and he starts stroking himself hard and fast, his cock already huge in his hand, ready to burst.

And then, the sound of water being turned off. Silence, apart from a few drops hitting the bottom of the shower. His own breathing sounds loud in his ears. He doesn’t dare move. His hand is still on his cock.

The door creaks open and Ignis walks on, with wet hair, black boxer shorts, and a soft-looking grey t-shirt. He had a towel draped across his shoulders. He stretches his back languidly. 

Gladio can’t even breathe. He buries his face into his pillow, hoping Ignis won’t see how red he is. His cock is pulsing, hot and wet, in his hand. He can’t even let go without making it obvious what he was doing. He feels like he’s fourteen again, sharing a room with guys at training camp, desperate for release but terrified someone will hear.

Ignis walks to his bed. Sits on the bed. Gets in bed. It feels like he’s taking hours. He probably isn’t.

“Do you mind if I turn the light off?” Ignis asks, half-yawning.

Gladio kinda grunts noncommittally in response. He doesn’t really trust himself to speak.

The light clicks off. Gladio hears Ignis settling in his bed, the soft rustling of sheets. His own heartbeat is still loud in his ears. Slowly, he unclenches his hand, lets himself go. He’s not doing this with Ignis in the next bed. He’s not.

He rolls over and tries to think about something else. He can’t. He hears Ignis’ breathing slow down, his movements still. The bastard clearly isn’t finding it hard to sleep. He’s probably all relaxed, fucked out, satiated.

Whereas Gladio… Gladio is a mess.

He had no idea when he finally manages to fall asleep. Five minutes before someone cruelly wakes him up, it feels like.

“Get up, Gladiolus.” Ignis’ voice, controlled and precise, cuts through the fog of his sleep-addled mind like a knife. “We have a busy day planned today.” 

For a few seconds, his dream is still vivid in his memory, and then it fades into disconnected images, impressions. A confused jumble of maze-like streets. In the dream, he was looking for someone. But he doesn’t know who it was, exactly. The person kept eluding him. Disappearing around street corners. Vanishing inside a crowd. He remembers green eyes and wide, white shoulders. He remembers wanting something just out of his reach, something he can’t quite grasp.

He opens a bleary eye. Ignis is standing next to his bed with a displeased expression. The one he wears in the morning when he hasn’t had his coffee yet.

“I’m up,” yawns Gladio, sitting up. “You go downstairs. I’ll join you in a minute.”

“Alright,” says Ignis, making for the door. Then he pauses and looks at Gladio with a half-smile. “Thank you, by the way, for last night. I owe you one.”

Gladio doesn’t know what to say to that. “It’s fine,” he says. 

“I’m serious. Just say the word and I’ll return the favour.”

“I’ll let you know,” says Gladio as Ignis leaves.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Some happy I wrote to cheer myself because I was sick and sad. 
> 
> If you prefer some form of resolution to your confused pining, please head over to the sequel, Altissia in the rain  
> If you like open endings and ambiguity, feel free to stop here.
> 
> Kudos, as ever, are love, and make me bounce up and down with joy.


End file.
